Fima lives in Jerusalem, but feels that he is in Jerusalem by mistake, that he ought to be somewhere else. In the course of his life he has had several love affairs, several ideas, has written a book of poems that aroused some expectations, has thought about the purpose of the universe and where the country has lost its way, has spun a detailed fantasy about founding a new political movement, has felt longings of one sort or another, and the constant desire to open a new chapter. And here he is now, in his early fifties, in this shabby flat on a gloomy wet morning, engaged in a humiliating struggle to release the corner of his shirt from the zipper of his fly. With rare wit, intimate knowledge of the human heart, and his usual storytelling mastery, Amos Oz portrays a man — and a generation that dreams noble dreams but does nothing